A short post this week, as I have been (and will be for a while) living without reliable internet. Great for reading! But less than convenient for keeping up a regular writing practice on Substack.
In the past few days I have felt more physically exhausted than I ever have before. Exhausted in the Latin sense—thoroughly drained (from exhaurire), in the way a man at a symposium dries the bottom of his cup.
But my stiff joints and bunged up muscles, my weary feet and strained shoulders, all contrive to make me forget everything but what is before me. In other words, the hard-working body quiets the racing mind, and the task ahead seems more manageable than an onslaught of things to do (some real, some imagined).
Two nights ago I slept on rocks and sage brush under the open sky. I was so grateful to lie down that the jagged points and unevenness—the lack of a pillow!—didn’t matter at all. I fell immediately to sleep. And the funny thing is, I woke up grateful. I wasn’t even complaining in my own head like I usually do.
So I’m living an experiment in exhaustion. Too tired for self-pity, too drained for unhelpful rumination, focused only the present moment.
